


Beats Hanging, Doesn't it?

by HeadbuttingUncle



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Character Death, Angst, Deviates From Canon, Gen, Gore, Graphic Description of Corpses, My First Fanfic, What-If, bisexual!alistair, daveth survives the joining, graphic combat, i don't really have a beta and english is my second language so bear with me here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-11-14 02:02:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11198136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeadbuttingUncle/pseuds/HeadbuttingUncle
Summary: Daveth is living the anonymous, hedonistic life of a thieving urchin on the streets of Denerim. Ever since he ran away from his hometown somewhere in the midst of the Kocari Wilds, he's yet to do real work again. The only responsibility in life he has, is not going to bed hungry, which is easy with his deft fingers and quick feet. So naturally, when he awakes with a hangover and blurry memories of the night before, he doesn't expect to soon be tasked to save Thedas from the Fifth Blight with nothing but a drop-out templar, a shapeshifting witch, and a slobbering dog.





	Beats Hanging, Doesn't it?

Daveth awoke on the hardwood floor next to his bed, limbs twisted into awkward positions and his brain throbbing agonizingly after a long night at The Pearl. He untangled himself and groaned in discomfort as his joints audibly cracked from being forced into their correct positions.

He lifted himself off the hard floor, careful not to immediately tumble over again. When he finally stood somewhat safely, he rubbed the sleepy dust out of the corners of his eyes. As the nausea from his hangover struck him, he couldn’t stand straight much longer. He blindly searched for the bed to his right with one arm, the other still busy cleaning his eyes. As soon as he his hand found the edge, he latched onto it and promptly sat down. 

Like every time he had woken up on the floor of his bedroom, which happened much more than he’d like to admit, he wondered how much of a difference there actually was between sleeping on his bed and sleeping on the floor. The “mattress” was merely the largest sack he had been able to find, stuffed with hay he had stolen from a nearby horse master. However, he hadn’t been able to exchange the rotting hay with fresh hay for a while. The last time he had attempted to steal hay, he had noticed that the horse master had upped his securities. An usual amount of guards had been placed at the hay storage. Daveth had figured it was only a coincidence so he had returned every night to see whether there were less guards. But every night he had found the exact same amount of guards, unknowingly mocking him and his stinking mattress. Yet the rotten smell had forced him to attempt stealing the hay anyways, which nearly got him caught, which would have very likely resulted in his execution.

Daveth was a thief very familiar to the guard of Denerim. He was known for enough felonies that would easily justify a death sentence, if added up. In case he ever got caught, he would even be lucky to end up at the gallows. That way he wouldn’t have to rot in the dungeons of Fort Drakon until he either starved to death or was beaten to death by the dungeon masters, who were notorious for their needlessly excessive violence.

 

While he was waiting for the worst of the hangover to pass, he looked about the room. Although there really wasn’t much to look at. The small bedroom consisted of only a wardrobe, a nightstand and, of course, the bed. The wall opposing the bed featured a line of small windows, each so dirty and dusty that one could barely see the outside. The windows probably hadn’t been cleaned in over six years, even before Daveth had moved in.

How Daveth had acquired the small house wasn’t exactly a tale he was very proud of. When he moved to Denerim six years ago, he didn’t have anywhere to go. He was a mere urchin of fifteen years who had just ran away from the village nearby the Kocari Wilds he had grown up in. So when he found a house inhabited by only a poor senior who miraculously had lived over 80 years under these conditions, he had no choice but to seize the opportunity. He broke into the house at night and hid out nearby the staircase, where he waited until morning. When the old man awoke and made his way down the flight of stairs, Daveth sneaked up behind him and gave him a forceful kick into his frail back. While the man was still falling to his death, Daveth hurriedly leaped over the handrail, unwilling to witness his own crime. He stormed out of the house, without checking whether he had actually successfully killed the man, and ran to the headquarters of the guard, not to turn himself in, but to play the distraught orphan reporting his grandfather’s death. Initially, he had planned to make himself cry with the onions he had stolen from the market district. But as he ran, he was overwhelmed with fear and guilt, afraid of what would happen if the guard would figure out his scheme. The surprised scream and painful groans and the cracking of bones every time the man would hit the stairs played over and over in his ears, completely replacing the sound of his surroundings. As true tears started streaming over his cheeks into his mouth, filling his mouth with the taste of despair, he thought about leaving Denerim to go back to his village and just forget about the murder. Or to run off to Amaranthine or Highever. But alas he had already killed the man and didn’t want his sacrifice to be in vain. So he mustered up what little honor and good there was inside of him and committed to his original plan. He arrived at Fort Drakon and successfully tricked the guards into thinking he was the grandson of the man he had just killed and that his grandfather had fallen to death. He told them he had no other relatives left to go to and vehemently refused to go to an orphanage, so the guards had no choice but to leave the house to Daveth.

 

At first Daveth was plagued by guilt, living in the house of someone he had so selfishly murdered, but that was a long time ago. It didn’t take him very long to learn that in Denerim you’re either selfish or you’re dead. The man would have lived for maybe a year or two, Daveth wouldn’t have survived a week without a place to live. What’s the damage in killing someone who was waiting for death anyways.

By now the splitting headache had subsided and the nausea in his stomach had been replaced by a painful emptiness. Since warm, orange light was oozing through the dusty windows facing west, Daveth figured it was the late afternoon. The last time he had put anything in his mouth was last night at The Pearl and you couldn’t really consider that food.

To his great pleasure he still remembered his night at the brothel. He rarely visited The Pearl but yesterday he scored a great success by cutting the purse off of some foolish young noble who had yet to learn not to carry more than a sovereign when you visit the market in Denerim. At The Pearl he met a gorgeous Rivaini woman, he couldn’t recall whether she even told him her name but she told him she was the captain of a pirate ship, the Siren’s Call. She ensnared him not only with her sensual beauty but with fabulous tales of her adventures. At last, she offered to spend the night with her, but only if he could win a duel against her. Now, surviving in the mean streets of Denerim had made Daveth very confident in his abilities with daggers, especially when it came to dueling, so he was convinced he could easily beat her. Needless to say, he was wrong. Very wrong.

Daveth didn’t even notice what happened, but within seconds he was lying on the ground, disarmed and groaning in pain.

“Too bad, you don’t look half as bad”, she said as she holstered her daggers and stepped over Daveth, who was still figuring out what just had happened to him.

Usually he would have been overwhelmed by humiliation but, whether it was the unusual amount of ale in his veins or his love for tough women, even lying on the floor while being laughed at by the patrons couldn’t kill his mood. Though he was disappointed that the pirate was already engaged in conversation with a young elven woman, who seemed ever so impressed by her finesse in battle. Now that Daveth was reflecting upon last night, perhaps she was simply trying to impress the elf the entire time. Not that it mattered, in the end Daveth still got lucky with a handsome blond man, Anders was his name.

Just as he was about to indulge in the memory of Anders’ hands gliding over his body, leaving behind an oddly intense tingle, his stomach interrupted him with a furious gurgle. As he was unable to block out his growling stomach, he finally dressed himself to buy something to eat in the market district.

 

It was a sunny, warm afternoon in the busy streets of Denerim. Children were laughing and you could even hear Mabari’s barking in the distance. Daveth would describe it as beautiful if it weren’t for the stench of rotten food, urine and other feces, human or otherwise, that had been permanently inscribed onto the inside of his nose. The only people that could ever have a beautiful day in Denerim were those lords and ladies, who were probably sipping wine in their elaborate gardens while some poor elf scrubbed their noble feet.

 

While that was happening somewhere in Denerim, Daveth was sitting at a table outside of the Gnawed Noble Tavern, waiting for the nug-gets he had just ordered. The waitress had judged him thoroughly with her gaze, probably wondering how someone dressed so raggedy could afford such a peculiar delicacy. Nug meat wasn’t liked by many humans, but Daveth had fallen in love with their taste when he was travelling with a caravan of dwarves, a family of nug wranglers who had recently left Orzammar.

As he fumbled with a new hole in his linen pants, he decided to spend his money on some fancy clothes, some of those garments the nobles wore. But he quickly scrapped the idea, when he realized that he’d just get jumped on his way home. He didn’t particularly feel like walking home without any clothes.

 

Out of the corner of his eyes a bright flash of light caught his attention. A man had just walked out of the Gnawed Noble, clad in an ornate armor out of royal blue cloth and a metal unknown to Daveth that didn’t quite glisten like iron or steel would. The insignia on the chestplate showed two addorsed griffons with raised wings, facing sideways. It was strangely familiar to Daveth, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

The man had dark, mature features, Daveth couldn’t decide whether they were Rivaini or Tevinter, possibly a mixture of both. He sported a thick beard and his black, somewhat greasy hair was pulled back into a short ponytail. Despite his mature age he still had a very attractive aura surrounding him, but that wasn’t what was important to Daveth.

What was important was the juicy, large, low-hanging sack of money dangling off the man’s armor. He obviously wasn’t from around, otherwise he’d have known not to carry that much money around while wearing such extravagant armory.

When he walked by, Daveth tried his best to look unsuspicious and uninterested, which meant looking forcefully at anything nearby except at the man. After he was out of the man’s sight, he decided to give him a head start. He kept following him around the market until he was looking at a nearby stand that sold trinkets and other tchotchkes.

Daveth got up quickly so he wouldn’t miss this golden opportunity. Those knick knacks might be useless, but they were expensive. The man had to have had especially deep pockets.

He walked towards the stand as casual as possible. Most of the workers had just finished their shifts and now rushed the markets, so it was especially crowded. He stood behind the man, just a little to the left, and pretended to scout the goods at the stand over his shoulders. He pulled the one-edged dagger out of the pocket of his jacket and briefly looked down so he could see what he was doing. He had been perfecting this craft for six years now, so it only took him a second or two to cut the purse off the armor and to quietly catch his booty with his left hand.

He slid the dagger back into his jacket and turned away from the stand. However, when he tried to put the bag of money into the other pocket he noticed that it was too big to casually slide it in. He stood still, only a few feet away from the man, and desperately tried to wiggle the bag into the pocket, his hands anxiously shaking.

 

“Cutpurse!”, a male, mature voice suddenly exclaimed behind. In shock, Daveth didn’t even wait to find out whether it was actually directed at him. He gave up on trying to fit the bag in the pocket and started to run, elbowing his way through the crowded market district.

The guard was immediately alarmed by the accusation and the two men rushing through the crowd.

To Daveth’s luck, he made out it of the crowd without tripping over anything so he could run off into an ally that’d lead him into the alienage. The alienage didn’t have many guards and was filled with many twists and turns and houses inhabited by helpless, old elves where he would be able to hide out until they would forget about him.

But just as he wanted to turn into the alley, two guards cut him off. Instinctively, he kicked one of the guards in the side of his knees and pushed him over, which made him come crashing down on his partner. Fueled by adrenaline, Daveth quickly jumped over the guards scrambling to get back up and kept running towards the alienage.

 

The guard at the gate to the alienage had been slacking off, leaning against the wall and obviously sleeping. He was awoken only by the yelling of his fellow guards who were already pursuing Daveth. Sleep drunk he simply tried to reach for Daveth. Panicked, Daveth pulled out his dagger and stabbed the hand reaching for him. The guard was paralyzed by the pain and simply looked at the dagger stuck in his palm.

Daveth made no effort to retrieve his dagger, though he mourned its loss. It had cut quite the few purses and one or the other throat, if the money was right.

When he arrived in the alienage, none of the elves fortunately made an effort to stop Daveth. No one would help them, so why would they help anyone. Some even got out of his way so he could keep running.

Suddenly a dog shot out of the orphanage he was running by, though the children inside were screaming at it to stop. Daveth couldn’t react fast enough and ran into the dog. Both fell over, yapping in pain as they crashed onto the ground, headfirst into the mud of the alienage.

Aggravated the dog sunk his teeth into Daveth’s calf. He screamed as the pain shot through his legs into his spine, triggering an involuntary panic reaction. He stomped on the dog’s face with all his might, which killed it immediately, or at least knocked it unconscious. 

But he didn’t have time to feel bad about harming a dog. It was no longer holding him on the ground, so he tried to get up. But the wound the dog’s teeth had left behind stopped him from doing so.

Defeated he dropped back onto the ground. Lying on his back, he closed his eyes and gritted his teeth to still the pain erupting from his left calf.

Soon he heard the guards’ stomping coming near, he breathed deeply, bracing himself for what was to come.

He had always known that he would eventually get caught, he had never expected to live past thirty. He just didn’t expect his fate to catch up with him so soon.

Two of the guards roughly grabbed his arms and forced him to stand up.

  
“Ow, careful with the goods! They’re fragile”, Daveth groaned in pain from being picked up so unkindly.

  
“Shut up, scum”, the guard to his right said. Daveth was ready to make another smart comment, but he wasn’t that much of an idiot. If he had to die today, he at least wanted to make it to the gallows.

But when the guards began pulling him towards the exit of the alienage, the man he had robbed interrupted them.

 

“Hold on! Where are you taking him”, he asked them.

 

“To the gallows of course, he’s getting executed.”

 

“Executed? He only cut my purse, just make him give me back my money”, the man said. Daveth was surprised to say the least. His victim standing up for him was very low on the list he expected to happen today. But then again, so was being executed.

 

“Warden-Commander, this man is a known felon. He has robbed and even killed many more in the past years”, the guard to his left said. Now Daveth remembered why the insignia on the Warden’s chestplate seemed so familiar. The Lay Warden at The Pearl also had it tattooed on her body.

 

“It took you several years to catch this young man?”, the Warden asked with a raised eyebrow. He seemed rather impressed at that.

 

“Six, to be exact”, Daveth said with a proud smirk on his face. The Warden chuckled.

  
“Smiling and boasting, even when faced with execution”, he huffed. 

 

“Is there something you want, Warden-Commander, or may we proceed? You must understand, we’ve all waited years for this moment”, the guard to Daveth’s left said. Impatiently, the guards started moving without waiting for the Warden’s answer. But he interrupted them yet again.

 

“No, you may not. I’m using the right of conscription.”

 

“You can’t do that, not for him!”, one of the guards exclaimed, angrily walking up to the Warden.

 

“I absolutely can, otherwise it wouldn’t exist”, the Warden explained calmly. The guards seemed extraordinarily upset by the idea, but Daveth was just confused.

 

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but the right of what?”, Daveth asked obliviously.

  
“Right of conscription, you’re being forced to join the Warden and we’re being forced to let you go”, the guard to his right mumbled.

 

“Let me go?! Ha!”, Daveth squealed in excitement and freed himself from the guards’ hands. He hurried to stand next to the Warden.

 

“Hear that, you stupid guards? Yeah, you stand there, all disappointed that you couldn’t catch the elusive Daveth again!”, he mocked them. When he tried to spit on the guards as well, the Warden finally put a stop to his shenanigans.

 

“Being conscribed to the Grey Wardens is not a reward”, the Warden said in a more serious tone than before.

 

“It sure beats being hung”, Daveth said. The Warden only answered with an equivocal grimace.

 

“Anyways, introductions are in order”, the Warden said, steering the conversation away from Daveth's fate. Duncan straightened his back and crossed his arms behind his back. His visual focus shifted to an unidentified point behind Daveth. “I am the Commander of the Grey Wardens of Ferelden, Duncan”, he revealed.

Daveth wasn't quite sure how to react, it was a rare occasion that someone so high-ranking would bother introducing themselves to him. And by “a rare occasion” he actually meant “this has never happened before and it's uncomfortable.”

 

“Uh, I'm Daveth … from uhm Denerim”, he stammered, uncertain was what the correct thing to say. He didn't have any title to boast with. Daveth, the guy that stole your purse; Daveth, the guy that woke up this afternoon with a splitting headache; Daveth, the guy that still hadn't gotten to eat anything and is currently starving.

 

Duncan chuckled as he loosened his posture. “Worry not, you'll get your titles soon enough,” he reassured Daveth. The corners of Daveth's twitched upwards, yet again unsure how to react. The thought of having some fancy title didn't really make him feel better. Having titles usually meant having duties and acting all proud and well-behaved, none of which Daveth was particularly good at. The only duty he'd had for the past six years was fulfilling his basic needs. And the growling of his stomach was a clear sign that he wasn't even good at that.

The alienage was slowly starting to pick its paces back up, and the elves didn't seem to happy to see Daveth here anymore. Struck with a fit of guilt, he looked at the dog's corpse. The orphanage's children would be devastated to find their dog dead.

 

“Well, uhm, Warden-Commander, I think we should head out, shouldn't we”, he suggested. He didn't want to wait around until the elves got really mad. He had witnessed his share of angry alienage elves and it tended not to go that well for the person they were angry at.

 

“Indeed, I suggest we pick up your belongings, we'll be leaving for Ostagar shortly. And please, call me Duncan. I'm not as fond of my title as you think either”, Duncan winked. He then turned around and started walking towards the alienage's exit without checking whether Daveth was actually following him. Of course, Daveth was following him.

 

On their way to Daveth's home Duncan explained the situation in Ostagar to Daveth. The thought of a blight was terrifying to Daveth, the thought of being the one to fight it was even more frightening. Like most people he had thought that the darkspawn had been destroyed after the Fourth Blight, but he had already heard that most of the Fereldan army had mobilized in the south of the kingdom. He hadn't given it much thought however. He was some urchin in Denerim, what did it matter to him what was happening in the Kocari Wilds. That was a place he had left behind a long time ago.

But the jokes was on him, now he was to join the fight in the south. He hadn't expected to ever return to the Kocari Wilds and the thought didn't appeal to him in the slightest. The village he had grown up in was there as well. Indeed, it wasn't far away from Ostagar. A day's worth of travelling by foot maybe.

He didn't have many fond memories of the place. How could he? The only thing he could recall was the exhausting field work and his violent father. Daveth had left as soon as he could outrun him, and he hadn't looked back since. Not even on the worst days in Denerim, when he was starving, when he was on the run from the guards, when he came back home bruised and battered by some street thug, did he ever think about going back to the Wilds.

It was a dreadful bog anyways, filled with beasts and chasind. Not that there was much of a difference there in the first place. But now it was also overrun by creepy dark spawn, led by a damned arch demon? Suddenly he understood why Duncan had beared such a grim face earlier, when Daveth had said that it was a better fate than hanging. What if it wasn't?

 

When they arrived at Daveth's house The sun was now hanging low in the horizon, its last rays painted the sky visible to them in a deep purple. A few shining stars had already appeared as well. If Daveth knew anything about formations he could probably figure out some of them, but alas he was barely able to read. Which was an impressive feat by itself, considering Daveth's background.

 

“This is your home?”, Duncan asked incredulously as they stood in front of the house. “I didn't think someone like you would have an actual house.” Daveth didn't take any offense at the words, after all he wouldn't own this world if it wasn't for murder and deception, but he still looked at Duncan with a raised eyebrow. Hadn't it been for Duncan's tan, Daveth was convinced he was blushing. His eyes widened.

“I apologize, I meant no offense”, Duncan stuttered hurriedly. Daveth chuckled. It was pretty amusing to fluster someone as prestigous and proud as the Warden-Commander.

 

“Anyways, I'll just get my stuff real quick, it's not that much really”, Daveth said and disappeared inside the house. Inside he scrubbed the dried mud off of him with some old cloth and quickly changed into a fresh set of clothing. Well, as fresh as Daveth's clothing got. He usually used the excuse that it was safer to look like a drowned, harrassed rat. Which was true, but in actuality Daveth was just incredibly lazy when it came to doing basic chores.

As he stuffed the dirty clothing into a drawer, he noticed that Duncan's purse was missing. Daveth panicked and frantically searched his clothing for it. Previously, when Daveth had lost something he had lended from someone else, he simply never spoke to that person again. He had never confronted someone about it, but that wasn't an option this time. After all, he was leaving Denerim with Duncan soon. He was going to miss Denerim's anonymity.

Only now it struck him that this really was the last time he would be inside his home. He didn't know what had triggered it, maybe the adrenaline from the chase earlier that day had finally worn off, but Daveth suddenly got very emotional about it. He hadn't had much time to think about it before, everything had happened very quickly. Stealing from Duncan, running from the guards, killing the dog, being caught, being recruited into the Grey Wardens, finding out about the Blight. It was too much information for Daveth to process at once. He held onto the drawer as his head started spinning. Too much was happening too fast.

A deep, concerned voice to his left startled him: “I know it's a lot right now, Daveth, and there's only more to come. Being a Grey Warden is no simple task, but you have to be ready to leave all of this behind right now. There's no turning back for you, I am sorry.”

 

Daveth tried to stand up, his head was still spinning but Duncan's words had soothed the panic that had risen in Daveth's body. There was a lot on his mind that he wanted to express, leaving Denerim, returning to the Kocari Wilds, fighting a war against an enemy that knows no fear. Yet all he was able to say was: “I'm sorry I lost your purse.”

To his surprise, Duncan merely laughed heartily at his response. He looked at Duncan confusedly, his mind wiped of any other fears for the moment.

 

“Don't worry about that”, Duncan said, after he had collected himself from the laughing fit. He reached under his breastplate and pulled out the purse. “You're not the only one with quick hands, Daveth.” Daveth laughed out of relief. The laughter lightened his spirit, smothered his racing heart. In only a matter of seconds, Daveth's fears didn't seem that bad anymore. At least for now. He was certain that he would enjoy travelling and fighting alongside Duncan.

 

“Are you ready then?”, Duncan asked and scanned the room for any valuables. “You don't seem to have that much to pack.”

Daveth scoffed amusedly. “Nothing, to be exact.”

 

“Well, is there anyone you need to say goodbye to? This might be the last time you see them”, Duncan said, his voice grimmer again. Daveth had a few friends in Denerim, but those were barely more than acquaintances. No one that was worth Duncan's time. No one that he was going to wish he had said goodbye to when a dark spawn is gutting him. So he simply shook his head.

 

“Good, that makes it much easier to leave”, Duncan said and ordered him to follow him with a swift motion of his hand.

When they were descending the staircase in Daveth's home, he remembered the old man who had lived here before Daveth. He wasn't as riddled with guilt as he used to anymore, he had gotten used to the thought that sometimes someone else had to die so he could live. However, he didn't expect to leave this house, especially not this soon. It hurt him to think that the old man would be so quickly forgotten after his unwilling sacrifice. Perhaps there was someone Daveth wanted to say goodbye to.

 

“Hold on-”, he said, grabbing Duncan's armoured shoulder. “There is someone I should pay a last visit.” Duncan looked up at him and nodded almost solemnly, as if he had been reading Daveth's mind. Maybe it was one of the Wardens' special abilities Duncan had mentioned before.

 

“Of course, I'll be waiting at the Gna-.”

 

“I'd prefer you to come with me. It's near the tavern anyways.” Daveth didn't know why he said that. Duncan really didn't need to know that he murdered an old man and lied to the guard to get this house.

Duncan seemed equally surprised at the suggestion, nonetheless he agreed.

 

Daveth led him to the graveyard by the chantry near the market district. The graveyard was mostly for people without any relatives, or at least without relatives unable to afford a proper one. Needless to say, in a city as poor and nameless as Denerim this graveyard was quite vast. It was only by memory that he was able to find the tombstone of the old man.

Daveth had been the only person to visit his funeral. And even he visited mostly because he didn't want anyone to suspect that he wasn't actually the grandchild. But ever since that day, he had never visited this place again. He had planned to do so several times, some part of him thought that the old man at the very least deserved a well-kept grave. But each time he had gotten overwhelmed with guilt, so he eventually stopped trying. Of course that had only deepened his grief.

But now was his last chance to atone for every chance he had missed.

The grave had vastly changed since the last time he had visited it. He remembered the earth, unraveled and dark, but now it was just covered in yellow, dry grass like the rest of the graveyard. The tombstone was blank and covered in equally dried out moss. At the time of the funeral, he didn't even have enough money to engrave a name on the stone. It was another one of the many things he had always mourned. Not that he knew his name in the first place, it was the principle that hurt Daveth.

He sighed and kneeled down in front of the stone. In a vain attempt to make this grave to look somewhat presentable, he started removing the moss from the stone. Then he started to clean the dust and dirt off the surface with his bare hands. He thought about using his spit for some moisture but he didn't want to insult the man's fate even further.

 

“Who is buried here?”, Duncan said, breaking the dreadful silence of the graveyard. “Were they dear to you?” Daveth scoffed at Duncan's oblivious, almost innocent questions.

 

“I didn't even know his name. I killed him, Duncan.” Duncan made an unclear sound. Shock? Understanding? Maybe both? Daveth didn't know, but he kept blurting out something he had sworn he would never confess. “I killed him out of some selfish reason, not self-defense, not to help anyone. Nothin' noble like that. That house we were at? His. He just was some old man in his third trimester and I pushed him down the stairs so I could take his house. And it doesn't stop there, I ran to the guard, not to confess or nothing, but to lie to them. Told them I was his grandson and my grandfather had fallen to his death. And I couldn't even find out his name and put it on his fuckin' tombstone. Or keep his grave all pretty looking like some of the others here 'cause I was wallowing in guilt and self-pity.” He knew it was stupid, you don't just tell all your crimes to someone who just saved your life. But it felt relieving regardless. It just felt … good to finally get this crime off his chest, because it was the only he had ever regretted.

But no matter how good it felt, all of the guilt he had felt because of this old man came rushing back up. He hadn't felt these emotions in years and he had cried only once because of them since. But now they tied his throat, emptied his lungs and shook his back. His cheeks were wet from tears while he was still trying to wipe the stone clean.

Duncan took off his right glove and kneeled beside Daveth. He put a hand on the boy's shoulder and squeezed it gently.

 

“Whatever life you lived until now, whatever mistakes you have made, it doesn't matter anymore, Daveth. It's over.”

 

“But I can't just forget him, it's the one thing he deserves that I can do”, Daveth said inbetween sobs.

 

“Then don't. Don't let his sacrifice go to waste. If you had died on the mean streets of Denerim instead, you wouldn't be able to protect Thedas from the darkspawn now. Honor him by battling the Blight.”

 

Daveth closed his eyes, soothed his mind. His body calmed down and the tears stopped flowing. Duncan was right. He couldn't make up for the man's death by wiping his tombstone. The only way to make up for his death, was by giving it worth.

He spent some time just looking at the grave, not thinking about anything. When he had finally calmed down completely, the sun had disappeared completely and only the moon and the stars were lighting up the graveyard. He stood up, wiped grass and dirt off his knees and walked towards Duncan, who was waiting at the gate to the chantry.

 

“I'm ready to leave.”


End file.
